


your hands on my cheeks, your shoulder in my mouth

by singlecatastrophe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlecatastrophe/pseuds/singlecatastrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a party that they're supposed to be at, but Harry's in a dress and he's got on actual knickers underneath, and Liam can't exactly say no to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your hands on my cheeks, your shoulder in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to again emphasize that nothing happens in this fic except Liam fucking Harry while Harry's in a (very pretty) dress and also lots of embarrassing feelings are felt. That's it. It starts in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom, and ends in the bedroom (/o\\) and as the first thing I've published for this fandom I think it's honestly a pretty good indicator of what to expect in the future. I'm so sorry.
> 
> This is also not beta'd so please forgive any mistakes! :)))))

Liam looks at his watch with a sigh.

"Can't we pick this up another time?" he asks, watching dubiously as Harry steels himself to try again, his long legs shaking in the delicate heels. "I'll do it with you even, I promise."

"No," says Harry stubbornly. "I can't leave the flat without knowing how to walk in these."

"Sure you can," encourages Liam. "Just, um, wear those flats-"

A high pitched noise escapes Harry's throat.

"Flats!" he says, sounding well and truly offended. "Liam, you don't honestly think that Posh - _Victoria Beckham_ \- goes to parties wearing _flats_."

Liam opens his mouth to say yes, he does honestly think she does, but Harry just barrels on, "No, no, that won't do at all."

"Good grief," mutters Liam, giving up when Harry starts to walk determinedly along the length of electric tape they had stuck on the floor. Liam regrets ever suggesting the idea, well over an hour ago now. He berates himself for having such confidence in Harry's ability to coordinate, and also for his own inability to deny Harry anything, no matter how much of a disgruntled show he puts up.

Ed's party had initially seemed like a fantastic time, a relatively small and casual thing with the theme of "famous duos." Even when Louis had offhandedly suggested weeks ago that Harry and Liam go as Posh and Becks, Harry had just laughed and looked at Liam with an astonishing amount of fondness and promise.

And then suddenly it was today, and Harry realized he had no idea how to walk in heels. Liam kindly suggested they practice for a while, have Harry walk in a straight line and back once before they head out - but he'd severely underestimated just how _bad_ Harry'd be at it, and how it would ignite the crazy competitiveness and desire to succeed that usually only came out on stage or in the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, it still doesn't look like Harry's going to be done any time soon. Liam scrolls through his tweets and seriously considers taking a nap or something when Harry shouts, "Liam, look!"

Liam lifts his head to do so, and lets out a pleased, surprised laugh. Harry's actually doing it, taking one confident step and then another down the line of tape before he turns around with minimal wobbliness and does the same back, right into Liam. Harry's grin is big and wide and so, so happy when he throws his arms around Liam's neck, and it seems to stay on his face even as he kisses Liam, slow and deep.

He's still beaming when he says, "Thanks." 

Liam blinks a little dazedly – because he's pretty sure he's the one that should be saying that – before replying, "What for?"

Harry smiles, but doesn't elaborate further than, "Oh, y'know," before completely changing his tune and saying, "So, you think I'm up for doing some of Posh's moves now?"

He steps back a little from Liam to shimmy his hips, the material of his dress rustling under Liam's hands.

"Sexy," says Liam, smirking a little, and even though he's teasing, he's pretty sure Harry knows that he means it completely.

"You just wait until tonight," promises Harry, giving one last peck on Liam's lips. Liam sees the disaster before it actually happens, as Harry tries to turn around using the tip of a heel as a pivot. Harry lets out a strangled cry, and Liam barely manages to snag his wrist to prevent his fall to the floor, leading them to tumble on to the bed.

Liam ends up with a mouthful of Harry's hair, Harry's fingers curled around his jersey. Harry's head rises up and down with the movement of Liam's chest, and he remains completely still. Liam would be concerned but he's still trying to catch his breath, and when he finally manages to get proper control of his airways again, Harry bursts into loud laughter.

"Oh man," gasps Harry, rolling off of Liam to land flat on his back. He has one hand on his sternum and giggles are still spilling out of his mouth. "This entire thing was pretty dumb, huh? Doomed to failure."

Liam shifts up a bit so he's resting on his elbows and turns to look at Harry to see that he's already turned towards Liam, eyes soft and the defined lines of his mouth curved into a faint smile. Liam doesn't think anything that makes Harry look like that can be silly, his curls disheveled and face flushed from laughter.

The thing is, Harry looks fit to Liam no matter what time of the day it is or what Harry's wearing. Liam's embarrassingly fond of Harry's ratty beanies and how he still breaks out across his forehead sometimes, and finds his habit of folding his favourite clothes endearing, even when they're about to have sex. 

But tonight, Harry doesn't just look fit - he looks honest to goodness lovely in the white cotton sundress, clinched around his waist with a brown, woven belt and floating to a stop just above his knees. The thin straps should look awkward on Harry's strong shoulders but instead they seem perfectly in place by the prominent wings of his collarbones and the pendants of his necklaces. 

"Not dumb," says Liam, an inadequate summary of his thoughts. "Kind of really hot, actually."

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stifle his grin. He doesn't quite manage it. "Really?"

In lieu of a response Liam just rolls over on top of Harry and settles his knees around Harry's waist.

"Incredibly," says Liam, sliding a hand up Harry's smooth legs and stopping partway up his thigh, rucking his dress up in the process. Harry's eyes are bright in the way that they get when he's happy and warm and maybe a little turned on, and Liam let's Harry link his fingers behind Liam's head and pull him down to a kiss.

Liam loves kissing Harry more than he loves fucking him, loves biting and pulling at his full lips and licking into his warm mouth. It can be both rough and tender and right now it's just sweet, the two of them licking warm and slow into each other's mouths. He can feel Harry shifting around, rutting up even as his hands travel down Liam's sides to rest on his bum and squeeze.

"Never got fucked by a footballer before," murmurs Harry when Liam leaves his lips to suck at the soft curve of his neck, gently scraping his teeth along it. "You should show me what it's like."

Harry means it too, if the way he's teasing at the waistband of Liam's trousers are any indication, eyelids drooping and his cock already half hard and pressing against Liam's sternum. Liam wants to take this further, turn Harry around so he's on his stomach and slowly pull down the zipper of the dress, kiss every newly revealed knob of Harry's spine down the dip of his back.

But they don't have time, and Liam just places a regretful kiss on Harry's lips and pulls away.

Harry grabs on to his arms and whines, "Nooo, come back, don't you dare leave before you finish what you started."

"Don't be difficult, Harry-"

" _You_ don't be difficult, Liam-"

Liam gapes. "You're the one that-"

"C'mon," Harry talks over him, pulling at his shirt, "stop talking nonsense and gimme some of that big athletic prick."

Liam groans. 

"Don't say that," he says, "I'm trying to not have us be even later-"

"Shhh," says Harry, sitting up. His hair's a mess and his lips are so, so red. He reaches for Liam's belt and tugs. "It'll be fantastic."

Harry's hands move to squeeze Liam's arse, looking up at him through his lashes in the way that can only happen when Harry's sitting down with his head slightly ducked. Liam has a moment of almost astonishing clarity, a warm pull on his chest coupled with the spiking hot ache of want and he wonders why he's even resisting. Because yeah, he loves their friends and it's horribly rude to not show up at a party they promised to make an appearance at, but all of that seems so far away when Harry's right here, his long fingers fluttering over Liam's stomach, cheeks flushed and a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth, an impossible mix of sweet and sly. 

The strap of his sundress is slipping off his right shoulder, hanging loosely around his tattooed bicep. Liam thinks again about how Harry should look like an unkempt patchwork of ink and skin and misfit clothes, but instead Liam finds himself seeing Harry as art, all these seemingly mismatched parts coming together into a blend of something beautiful. 

Liam's been gone for this boy for a long while before this moment, but it still knocks the breath right of him every time he thinks about what he'd do to and for Harry, how much he wants him.

There must be some kind of sign on his face, a visible representation of him letting go, because Harry's lips widen into an outright beam.

"I've got you, don't I?" he says, sounding too earnestly pleased to be properly smug.

"Never," denies Liam.

"Liar," grins Harry, his hands finally getting to work on unbuttoning Liam's trousers now that he's gotten implicit permission, "you want to get all over this."

Liam laughs. 

"You're really embarrassing, y'know that?" he says, but doesn't correct Harry because it's all true. He wants to cover Harry's lithe body with his own, hold him down and mark him, bite him all over. 

He leans forward to kiss him instead, and gasps into Harry mouth when his big, warm hands finally dive into Liam's pants.

Harry pulls him out, hands firm around Liam's prick. Liam makes the mistake of looking down, sees Harry's pale skin against the redness of his cock and sees himself harden even more in Harry's hand, sees the delight that overtakes Harry's face when he does.

"You've got it worse," says Harry, eyes bright as he strokes Liam gently with his thumb, presses down on one protruding vein, "because you're totally _into_ how embarrassing I am."

Harry switches his rhythm into harsher, more confident jerks, with just the right amount of force to get Liam's eyes rolling back. He loses hold of his legs, his knees landing on the bed on either side of Harry's thighs, bracing his hands on the duvet.

His face ends up just a breath away from Harry's, away from the surprised green eyes that look up at him.

Liam swallows, his throat dry.

"So help me," he says, knocking Harry's hand away from where they were on Liam's prick. He places one hand on Harry's hip and the other on the back of Harry's head and uses them to lower Harry onto his back. "I'm so, so into it."

This time when Liam kisses Harry it's rough, wet and messy and Harry's moaning into his mouth, desperate and wanton. It sets Liam's blood on fire, the flames licking along his veins. Harry lifts his hips to wrap his legs around Liam, grinding them together. Those darn heels are still on his feet, digging into Liam and doing more for him than he ever thought possible.

Liam groans, the fabric of Harry's dress that's pooled around his waist both soft and rough against Liam's cock. Liam grips Harry's knee with the hand that isn't tangled up in his mess of hair, and Harry covers it with one of his own. It's such a sweet gesture that it leaves Liam reeling even as his heart rate shoots up, but then he's guiding Liam's hand away from Harry's knee and up his thighs. He's done a fantastic job shaving his legs for the dress because the skin is distressingly smooth even up there, but Liam doesn't dwell on that for much longer. Their joined hands stop moving on top of Harry's hip, and where normally Liam would find the elastic of the waistband of Harry's pants, Liam's fingers brush against lace. 

Liam jerks back, and Harry makes a displeased sound. 

"Why d'you keep _doing_ that," he complains, curling his fingers on Liam's shirt and pulling him down. 

Liam ignores him and wiggles away. If Harry looked annoyed before, he looks positively murderous as he lifts his torso, putting his weight on his forearms. "Liam."

"Oh stop," says Liam, falling on his arse but still between Harry's legs. He stares, perhaps a little dazedly. "You're – you're wearing knickers that I want to take off with my _teeth_ and before I do I want to take a good and proper look, alright?"

Harry quiets at Liam's tone, his eyes big and mouth soft. "Oh," he says. 

"Settle back down now," encourages Liam, and Harry does so, his whole body oddly still. Liam wants to look at Harry's face but can't seem to tear his eyes away from the lacy lingerie, inky black against Harry's pale skin. And Liam doesn't know if it's that, or the further contrast of the delicate fabric straining against Harry's hard cock, his balls spilling out a little from the sides. Whatever it is, Liam feels his throat constrict, the wave of arousal that hits him so strong that he's surprised he doesn't fall over. Though he supposes he did that, already, when his fingers first came across the knickers. 

Knickers. Liam's never going to get past this.

"Jesus Christ," he says. "Harry."

"If you're really into it," says Harry, sounding turned on and impatient, words spilling out at a faster pace than usual, "then I swear we'll dedicate an entire week to this some time–" _dedicate,_ thinks Liam, _only Harry,_ "–but for the love of all that's good and right in the world–"

One day Liam's going to take his time with Harry and play this fantasy out, ask Harry to put on this kit again and have him model it, spin around so Liam can grab him by his wrist and unzip the dress and have it pool around his ankles. He'll kiss Harry's shoulders and watch his long legs step out of the discarded dress and it'll be incredible. 

But for right now, Liam's more than happy by what he has in front of him. 

"I'm gonna fuck you," says Liam, voice catching a little bit in his throat. 

Harry groans and shifts and generally looks hungry for it, but still manages a very put upon, "Thank you."

Liam's always appreciated a well-mannered individual, and he crawls into the vee of Harry's legs to show him that. He pushes the dress further up Harry's body and stares again at the knickers, takes in the intricate pattern and the tiny satin bows. The black is getting smeared by the white of Harry's precome, the head of his prick poking out of the waistband.

Liam bends down to mouth at Harry, sucking simultaneously on the flimsy fabric and the smooth skin of his balls where the knickers don't quite hold them in. He must have shaved down here too, if the lack of curls peeking out of the knickers and tickling Liam's chin as they normally do are any indication. Liam can feel Harry's thighs tense on either side of his hed, and one of Harry's hands move cradle the back of Liam's skull, his long fingers scrabbling weakly around the short strands of Liam's hair, trying to find something to grip. Liam licks his way up the line of Harry's prick until he gets to the top and pulls the knickers down just enough to free him, and takes Harry's cock into his mouth. 

"God," says Harry, legs trembling just the slightest bit as Liam sucks him hard. "God, Liam–"

It's not like Liam's planning on doing this for too long, but he loves drawing these reactions from Harry. He's just so responsive, and the noises that he's making is going right to Liam's own dick, and Liam can almost feel Harry's low, raspy voice resonating inside him. He hollows his cheeks and takes Harry as far down his throat as he can, sucking slowly as Harry's prick sits heavy on his tongue. 

Harry's always been loud in bed, from his moans to his harsh gasps of breath to the slew of filth and encouragement that pours out of his mouth, saying, "Liam," as though it's _goddamn_ and _more_ and _please_ all rolled into one. It makes Liam wonder what it would've been like to blow Harry like this when Harry was a bit younger, when he was polite with his words and his mouth couldn't quite shape itself around saying, "fuck."

The Harry that Liam has now, though, is his most favourite and loved Harry yet, in every way he's different and the same from who he was before. Liam's pretty sure whoever Harry is in any given moment in time is the one that he's going to want. 

Liam uses his fingers to stroke at the sensitive skin behind Harry's balls, not letting the cock leave mouth. Harry makes a strangled noise and his hips jerk, thrusting in a little, and Liam moves his hands to hold those hips down. Harry helplessly says, " _Liam._ "

Liam pulls back a little so that his tongue is working on just the head, flicking over the slit, and Harry's nails scratch the back of Liam's skull. "Stop," he gasping, "Stop, Li, I'm gonna come if you don't–"

Harry's eyes are fluttering when Liam moves away and shifts up, his pupils blown wide and chest heaving, the flush on his cheeks spread all the way to his chest. His mouth is warm and soft when Liam leans his body over to kiss him, licking into it eagerly. Harry falls into kissing him easily, as though he's been starving for the taste of Liam's mouth.

"Grab the stuff from the drawers," mumbles Harry, even as his arms stay wrapped around Liam's neck and he bites at Liam's lips. "Get the damn lube and get your fingers inside me–"

"You've gotta – you've gotta let me up a bit," responds Liam, not trying to change his position at all. They're rutting into one another, Liam's hips moving in circles and their cocks rubbing together and leaking everywhere. 

Harry whines a little when Liam manages to break away, but there's only so long that Liam can keep palming at Harry's arse without going further. He stumbles off the bed and kicks the rest of his kit off, rifles through the drawers for the lube and condoms. 

When Liam turns back to the bed, Harry is spread out against the pillows and looking at him with big, bright eyes. His hair is wild and his lips are parted, his long, elegant fingers loosely gripping his cock. Liam's mouth goes dry because Harry looks obscene, beautiful and delectable and utterly wrecked because he's still lying on his back, dress hiked up past his waist and knickers partway down his thighs and those cream coloured heels still wrapped around his ankles. 

It's confusing, trying to sort out what Liam feels right then. He wants to ruin Harry further, fuck into him hard and rough until Harry's got his eyes clenched shut and his feet digging into Liam's back, until he's screaming with how good it feels, how much he loves the burn of it. But then there's this tide of tenderness that washes through Liam as well, the surfacing of this huge, constant force that's always simmering underneath all their interactions, present whenever Harry acts particularly petulant or sweet or kind or Harry. 

Harry doesn't say anything, but he follows Liam's movements with his gaze as Liam crawls back into Harry's space. The room feels heavier somehow, completely silent except their heavy breathing. Liam's eyes don't leave Harry's as he uncurls Harry's fingers from around his prick, one by one. 

"No more of that," says Liam. 

"Alright," breathes Harry, and his eyes go all soft, relaxed like when he's about to smile. He lays his hands on either side of him and grasps the duvet instead.

Liam hooks a finger to Harry's knickers and tugs on the flimsy fabric, pulls them down his long, smooth legs, past the curve of his bent knee and to his ankles. Harry lifts one foot up so Liam can carefully extricate it around the heels to prevent any tears on the lace, even though it's already a bit of a lost cause, stained beyond recovery.

When Harry goes to lift his other foot, however, Liam presses down to stop him.

"No," he says, licking at his chapped lips, leaving the knickers dangling on his one ankle. 

Harry's eyes are big. "Oh," he says, and it's terrifyingly humbling and arousing in equal turns to realize that Liam can cause Harry's voice to go so small, the same incredible voice that the world is in love with, the one that fills up entire stadiums. "Oh," he repeats, biting down on his bottom lip. "Yeah, okay."

He hoists Harry's left leg over his shoulder, and Harry's hips automatically cant up. Liam feels the knickers scratch lightly at his back and it makes him hyperaware of all his movements, of all the places Harry's brushing up against him. He squeezes the lube on to his fingers, rubs them together to warm it up a bit and he can see Harry start to squirm, anticipating it. His necklaces clink together with his movements.

Liam presses a finger gently into Harry's entrance and starts to slowly slide in. Harry moans and tries to spread his legs a little bit further.

"You don't – you don't have to go slow," he says. 

"Maybe I want to go slow," says Liam, just to be difficult because he doesn't, not really, no matter how entrancing it is to see his hand disappear inside Harry. He's not as pale as Harry but his skin is still an overwhelmingly arousing contrast against the smooth pink his fingers go into. He adds a second finger, stretches and soothes Harry in turn. "Maybe I want to see how long you can take this."

"Liam," groans Harry, tightening, and Liam goes in with three fingers in one slick go, and Harry hisses, "ah, that feels – don't stop–"

Liam doesn't have the chance to comply because even as he says this Harry's already started moving his hips, fucking himself down on Liam's hand. His back is arched, neck thrown back, hair falling in a tangled mess around his head. He's writhing and his legs are shaking and gasping every other time he manages to push himself down on a certain spot. 

"You can put in more," says Harry, panting, and he's pink all over his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders and chest. "God, Liam, I love your fingers and how good – how fucking good it makes me feel and I love how you can fill me up with just three of them and you – you can shove your whole hand in and be done with it I can take it–"

Harry trails off incoherently and Liam mutters, "Christ," and takes it as a sign to continue. He withdraws his fingers from Harry - and some of the lube is still dripping out of him and Liam wishes he had the time and patience right then to lick Harry out, but he doesn't, not now – and when Harry instinctively reaches to grasp desperately at Liam's elbows, Liam quickly murmurs, "Just a second, Harry, just a second, I swear." 

He reaches for the condom he had gotten out earlier and rips it open with his mouth, rolling it over his prick. He drizzles some more lube on and shifts so he's in line with Harry's puckered entrance, and Harry says, unexpectedly coherent, "You don't have to be so careful, I promise." 

Liam looks up, surprised, and Harry's chest is still heaving from his ragged breaths but he's looking right at Liam, lips turned into the smallest of smiles. A bead of sweat trails down to his mouth and Harry licks it off his lips. It's startlingly hot and Liam's already painfully hard, and he leaves a kiss on Harry's knee before he presses into him with the head of his prick. 

Harry exhales heavily as Liam slides in, arms braced on either side of him, stays almost eerily still until Liam bottoms out. They've done this so many times and Liam knows that Harry's had other partners before, but Liam still thinks that Harry's not gotten completely used to how it feels in the first few moments of being filled up. 

"All right?" asks Liam, and Harry blinks a little before he nods. 

"Yeah," he says, cheeks dimpling. "Yeah, more than all right."

After that, Liam doesn't hold back.

Liam vaguely knows the science behind it, knows about the endlessly igniting nerve endings and the chemicals that are taking over his bloodstream, the endorphin and countless other hormones that are making every point of contact with Harry's body feel overwhelming good.

But Liam thinks it's something else as well, and he feels it with every thrust into Harry's body, with every mark Harry's nails claw onto his back. He thinks about how it's different with Harry than it's ever been with anyone else, because how many people have the chance to be with someone who is at once your best friend and family, and also that little something extra that pushes you into being something more?

"Fucking incredible," gasps Harry, and the leg that was on Liam's shoulder drops, foot sliding down Liam's back until both his ankles lock. His heels dig into the small dip above Liam's arse, his hands moving to grip at Liam's elbows. "You're incredible, Li, God, never - never let anyone tell you otherwise."

It's a sweet sentiment, even if it's hard to process anything or give it too much weight when all his senses are focused on soft and perfect Harry is under his hands. Still, Liam believes it - or rather, believes that Harry believes it - and lets the slap of his own skin against Harry's reiterate the words rather than dilute its sincerity.

And Harry feels so good around Liam, hot and tight and just slick enough from the lube to make each thrust easy but not take away the pressure. Harry's not touched himself since Liam's started fucking him, looking like it's taking all of his focus to just hold on to Liam. He screams out particularly loud when Liam enters him from a certain angle, and Liam thinks that Harry can come from just this, just from Liam's cock pounding into him.

But they have to try and see that another day because Harry pants, "I'm so close, Li, don't stop, I'm gonna come-" and reaches between their bodies to urgently pump at his prick. Liam's thrusts get more frantic in response, and he's hit with a sudden image of how they would look from the outside, literally fucking like animals. The thought makes his muscles tighten, makes his cock feel even harder, and Liam knows he's close as well. He looks at Harry's face and keeps his gaze there, on the thin ring of green around his pupils and his spit shiny lips, doesn't look away until Harry's squeezing his eyes shut and tightening impossibly around Liam, coming all over both their stomachs. 

Harry relaxes then, all the tension leaving his body and limbs falling away from Liam. He watches dazedly through hooded eyes as Liam continues, let's himself get fucked until Liam's coming too, spilling into the condom with white sparks crowding his vision. 

Liam barely finds it in him to slip out and roll away, to avoid collapsing on top of Harry. He pulls off the used condom and ties it up, throws it into the rubbish bin by the bedside drawers. He feels wiped out in the best possibly way, body heavy and sated as he thumps down on the bed, sinking into the blankets. 

Harry curls into his side and mouths absently at his shoulder, one hand coming to rest on Liam's chest and lightly scratching. The easy affection has an entirely different type of warmth pool into Liam's stomach, and he turns to his side so he can look at Harry properly. Harry smiles at him lazily and lifts a long finger to trace at Liam's lips. 

"Better than that party any day, am I right?" 

Harry's voice is like dry gravel and if Liam wasn't on the verge of passing out, he's certain that it would've been enough to get him going again. He thinks about fucking Harry's mouth and making that voice hoarser, and even as his dick gives a tiny twitch Liam just sinks further into the blankets. 

"Ed's not gonna forgive us for not even showing up for a bit," he says, but it's spoken almost out of rote, not really finding it in himself to worry. Instead he nips at Harry's finger, the one lingering around Liam's mouth, and loses his thoughts in Harry's responding laughter. 

"Lies," says Harry, stray giggles still escaping him, "he'll probably give us high-fives for having our priorities straight."

Liam thinks about it. 

"You're right," he says, and Harry smiles, pleased. He leans in to peck Liam on the lips before saying, "We can still make it for a while if you want to go."

His words are broken in the middle by a large yawn, and Harry reminds Liam of a sleepy cat, rubbing his cheek on Liam's arm. He's warm and soft and languid enough to be one, at any rate. "We could quickly pop into the shower," he continues, lips moving against Liam's shoulder. "Clean each other up and get into some fresh trousers."

Harry clearly has no intention of getting up though, eyes already fluttering shut. Liam's close behind, and it briefly occurs to him that maybe they should wipe themselves off a bit to avoid any unpleasantness later, and Harry does still have those heels on. But then Harry tangles their legs together and Liam purposely shoves the thought away, opting instead to pull the hem of Harry's dress back down, smoothing it over Harry's bum and thighs. 

"Or we can take a quick nap and pick this up again after," says Liam, and Harry's responding grin is as much of an agreement as any spoken words would have been.


End file.
